Fragility And Suffocation
by Unsaid Goodbyes
Summary: Edward/ ‘She was just too weak...too delicate to do anything’. Bella/ ‘He hovered over my very life, controlling it to the point of nothingness’. AU/AH, IC.


A/N: This is just a simple little one-shot that came to me when I saw a picture on deviantart. The picture was of a doll wearing only a shirt that flowed around her like a dress, and the description on the bottom of the photo told of a girl too fragile to do anything on her own. This sparked an idea in me. _This_ is what Bella and Edward's relationship would be like if they were human and in character. If he wasn't a vampire and had no reason to protect her so thoroughly. And _this,_ is both sides of their story. Thank you to my fantastic beta **octoberland** who graciously corrected this for me!

So, continue...

Summary: Edward/ 'She was just too weak...too delicate to do anything'. Bella/ 'He hovered over my very life, controlling it to the point of nothingness'. AU/AH, IC.

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**Title: **Fragility And Suffocation

**Rating: **T

**Authors: **Breathless Tomb

One-Shot

**Edward's POV**

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Too fragile

Too...frail.

It pained me inexplicably to look at her. With her thin arms, and short yet slender fingers. So tiny. So breakable. It tugged at my heartstrings—playing me like a puppet, demanding I listen to the whims of whatever was controlling me. What could _I_ do? How could _I_ be of any help to her? Was I real? Could I be the one to pick her up and construct her? Like moulded clay, collected in a ball. My judgements seemed as tightly packed as such. Jumbled, even.

I watched her pad silently around the kitchen, her petite feet barely making a sound against the black tiles. It made me cringe—a twisting sickness to my stomach. She was far too small, far too skinny. Her skin wrapped around her frame lovingly, barely covering the bones beneath. But I could still **see**. Memories resurfaced. Images of her tiny waist, bony wrists, willowy legs. Everything about her screamed delicate.

My sweet Bella. My insubstantial wife. It drove me to near tears, how easily she could be broken. Even now, as I watched her from the shadows—as she was unaware of my presence—I could only wince at the fact that one of my _smallest_ shirts, which I had given to her, flowed over her like a dress. It slipped over her shoulders, exposing her pale collarbone—the bones defined.

Too sweet.

Too breakable.

Quietly, I slipped into the room, making my way to her. Her back was to me though, so she had no inkling that I was even there. She had no indication that I'd ever even left our _room_. The realization made me frown, and left a dent in my heart. _She doesn't pay enough attention anymore, _I thought. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, shadowing her, standing right behind her. She still had no clue.

_Turn to me love. _

_You need to see._

She still didn't turn.

Love was burning in my veins—perhaps a hint of possession was there too. My arms itched, as if bugs were crawling over them—the urge to take her into my arms fierce. My heart was beating, in tune with hers. Most likely anyway. Why wouldn't it be? I was completely in tune with my Bella. We were one unit. One being. Two halves of an immediate whole. Together, we could do no wrong.

She was leaning against the counter, her stomach pressing into the edge. I wanted to pull her back—her stomach was too fragile to have any force pushed against it. Resting on the counter was a cool glass of milk, the liquid creamy and frothy. Condensation covered the sides where her tiny hands didn't cover, holding it firmly. She stood there motionless, staring at the nothingness.

There was no noise. Maybe the clock, but that was far off. Barely a distance ticking. The night had settled. The darkness had seeped into the walls. In the kitchen—where we were—, the only light was being emitted from a chandelier over top the table. Its dimmed light glowed, illuminating certain sections of the room. I was surprised she hadn't noticed my looming shadow yet—another frown. She really _was_ unobservant. Too delicate, and unaware. The worst combination.

_I need to protect her._

She brushed back her hair, and her arms began to lift, bringing the glass close to her mouth. But, halfway to her lips, she stopped, her arms shaking slightly. A strain. My lips dropped even further, the frown etching into a scowl. _She's too weak to even bring a damn cup to her mouth_. My poor, poor Bella. Something in my veins scratched at me. Some sort of obligation...that I wasn't fulfilling.

Hesitantly, I reached around, wrapping one of my hands—only **one**—around the entire cup and _over_ her hands, bringing it to her mouth for her. Aiding her. Guiding her. **Protecting** her. She didn't even react to my new presence. It didn't seem to faze her. Perhaps she'd sensed me? Perhaps she knew what my hand felt like, wrapped over hers? Whatever the reason was, I didn't care. She knew it was me. My Bella was not one to take another person's presence happily.

I rested my free hand on her hip, drawing her close to me—away from the countertop—as we brought the cup to her lips. As the glass touched her soft lips, she took a small sip. I heard a gulp. My eyes closed, trying to _feel_ her aura intertwining with mine. Pink and blue, mixing together. Female and male. Her and me. I heard her take another gulp.

Sip after sip, we stood there, glued together, until she finished off the ivory liquid. Gently, I moved the glass back down to the counter, letting it rest there. Both my hands gripped her hips now, my face slowly nuzzling into her neck. She sighed, leaning back into me. I placed a sweet kiss on the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. A shiver rippled down her spine.

"Come back to bed, baby," I murmured into her pallid flesh, "It's late." Her head rolled to the side somewhat, granting me better access to her throat. Instinctively, one of my hands came up to hold the side of her head, making sure she didn't hurt herself. I felt—rather than heard—her sigh. Why? It didn't make sense.

"'Kay," She mumbled, sleepiness fogging her tone. She turned around in my arms, placing her tiny hands on my shoulders. With a quick movement, I lifted her up, making my way out of the kitchen. It hardly felt like I was carrying anything at all. A feather—or perhaps a small basket. It was almost like...she wasn't there.

I placed a kiss on the top of her head, walking into our room.

***

**Bella's POV**

I felt...suffocated. Beneath a weight. My lungs were compressed, drawn in. Shrivelled? Possibly. The urge to breathe was strong, but I knew this desire was impossible. Taking breaths—even just _a_ breath—was something I could no longer do. Not on my own, at least. I didn't even know the meaning of that word anymore. _Independent? Alone?_

Those words didn't register in me. There was no conceivable definition.

_He_ hovered over my movements. He—my used-to-be sweet and calm husband—guarded me every second, wrapped around me as tightly as a second skin. Our similar shades of ivory skin were almost indistinguishable by now, as we were always together and wrapped together. Not by my choice, of course. It was all _his_ choice. My voice fell on deaf ears. Ears that had long since stopped listening to me.

But as drastically as our marriage had turned, I couldn't find it in me to hate him. He was still _Edward,_ the man I'd fallen in love with and married at the ripe age of eighteen. Perhaps being with him so long—now that I was nearing the age of twenty-six—had warped me, causing me to become dependent on him. It would make sense. I _had_ once been independent, but that memory was as distant as the ones from my early years alive.

I just couldn't understand why he was so...suffocating. Protecting. I'd always been smaller than most people—not as small as his sister, Alice, but even she had a bit of curve—and weaker. He'd known that since we'd first met, and I was still relatively the same size as then. I wasn't smaller—if anything, the years had been good to me, helping me grow another inch and a bit. But perhaps none of that had registered to _him_.

"_You're too fragile,"_ He'd once told me, _"Your hands, your feet, your body, your essence, your skin. Your skin is like silk. Silk over a body of glass. Anything could break you...and I can't let that happen."_ He must've gone insane from our years together. I had never been one with a gentle kind of grace. In other words, clumsiness was a second nature to me. As natural as breathing. I was used to bruises decorating my arms and legs.

He, apparently, would never get used to it. In fact, he'd much rather avoid it like the plague. And, ever since the day of our wedding, he'd slowly but surely become more and more shielding of me, making sure to _always_ be around me. His emerald eyes had gracefully lost their kindness and relaxation, opting for a desperate sheen. They constantly flickered around when we were in public places, judging if I could be hurt or not.

He didn't trust the outside world.

That was when we stopped going out.

Days spent indoors. There would be times where he wouldn't allow us to leave the house for weeks on end, choosing to order simple things like groceries instead of going to the store. In the beginning, I'd fought with him, not understanding why his personality had changed so. I'd literally _fought_ with him to go outside, punching and kicking him with all my might. But we were always opposites. While I was smaller and weaker than most—a defection at birth—, he'd been relatively tall all his life, spending endless amounts of time in the gym throughout his youth.

When I tried to punch his granite chest, my knuckles had swollen and turned cherry red. _That_ was when he started making _rules_ for me. Rule one; never hurt him, because I'd only end up hurting myself. And he didn't _want_ me getting hurt. That was, after all, the whole point of his personality switch. Knowing there was nothing I could physically do to stop his authority over me and knowing I couldn't call anyone—he'd long done away with any form of phone in our house, and all computers were strictly monitored—, I began to give in.

Days became nights, no longer differentiated by the rising and falling sun. Even nights such as this, where I was free to wander the house while he slept...I still felt no change in my moods. It was always the same fatigue in my bones, a weariness. I couldn't escape this shadowing force over me. Freedom was...an impossibility. Which I hated. So, in order to sort through my usually jumbled thoughts, I roamed the house.

Leaning against the counter, I thought this all over. The dim light of the room helped clear my head, but I would've preferred pure darkness. At least in the dark, nothing could find me. At least, not him. And what else did I have to be found by? I hadn't seen my other friends and family in years. I wasn't even sure if most of them were still _alive._ For all I knew, they'd long since been dead. Though...I did miss them...so much...

There was a glass of milk clutched tightly in my hands. Edward only allowed healthy food in our house anyway. He wanted me to stay healthy and sickness-free. Milk would help my bones grow, in his mind. I'd once hated milk with a passion. Now, I rather didn't mind it anymore. I was just so used to it.

Brushing back my short hair—Edward himself had cut it a few weeks ago, and though it was nice, it made me seem even more childlike—, I gripped the cup securely, and lifted it to my lips. My hands were shaking from the cool temperature of the condensation, since the window was open and it was now late autumn. My arms stopped before the glass could touch my lips though. A chill ran down my spine.

Someone else was here.

Before I could make as much as a sound, a hand wrapped around the cup, helping it to my lips. Automatically, I knew who it was, just by the long, thin fingers. Once the cup reached my mouth, it tilted, letting the milk spill down my throat. With both our hands still wrapped around the glass, I drank, gulping the milk down.

His hand clutched softly at my hip, keeping us together and pulling me away from the counter. As I finished off the milk, he placed the glass down on the counter, his new free hand clutching the other side of my hip. I stared at the foggy sides of the glass as he nuzzled my neck, kissing it softly. Instinctively, my body relaxed into his. I didn't necessarily like this reaction, but it was engraved into me.

He asked me to come back to bed, and my head rolled back, not answering him immediately. Even his pet name for me was a reflection of his character. _Baby_. As if I was nothing more than a newborn that had to be cared for and catered to. This sentiment was only strengthened further as his hand gently came up to hold my head.

I sighed, "'Kay."

I twirled in his arms, holding onto his broad shoulders as he picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. Resting my cheek against his chest, I felt him place a kiss on the top of my head, walking out of the kitchen and to our bedroom. The fleeting feeling of a small amount of liberation was gone now, morphing into the same caged existence as always.

_Who am I now?_

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A/N: I haven't written a chapter in awhile for almost any of my stories, so this is a consolation one-shot. I hope you all like it as much as I do. If you're one of my regular readers and you miss some of my stories, review telling me which one you'd like to see updated. _Any_ of them, even **You Obviously Haven't Seen The Wings**, or, **The Core Of Fear**.

On a side note, thank you to my amazing beta **octoberland** again. She really is quite thorough with her work, and makes me not sound like an idiot. So, to anyone in need of a couple of great stories, go check out her profile! She's in my _'favourite authors'_ list! *Grins*

--Breathless Tomb--


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